Under the mountain
by JestaAriadne
Summary: "There isn't like… a lot of language and context in The Canon here, for people like us..." The turning of the year finds Poland in reflective mood, and Lithuania dreaming of golden knights of legend. (nyo!lietpol)


lietpolsecretsanta fic for aph-poland on tumblr. The prompts were 'knights' and 'matching Christmas sweaters'!

* * *

So Lithuania says to me, "I think I dreamed I was in the cave under Mount Pisana with the knights and the golden horses."

And I'm like, "Really? What was it like? Where was it?"

"Uh. Don't know. I felt more sort of… trapped."

"Oh!" This is awkward. "I'd've busted you out, no worries. So, you can think that, if you dream it again."

* * *

That's uh… that's my legend, by the way. Why should Lithuania dream about that cave, hanging out with the knights that are supposed to ride in to save Poland from destruction but so far haven't?

Also, what is it with knights in shining armour? We both like this idea a lot, a lot a lot. Specially her. It's funny 'cos we did live through the reality of all that, the mess and the mud and the loose ends. But still. The mythos and the… magical realism? a water damsel in every lake; knights holed up under the mountain until such time… Love that stuff.

First time we met, I told her the story about the Prince and the Krakow dragon.

Knights get quests. Which is like, a point to what you're doing. It's all about devotion to your ideals and your lady.

It was, at times, a bit like that.

Anyway the singers were having their stories romanticized codified in razos and vidas even as they lived. Like the legend of Blondel the minstrel who sought out his king in prison, singing the song they wrote together. That's my favourite. Liet's is the one with Peire Vidal and the wolves. Obviously.

Meanwhile, back at home in our real lives, we used to joust. Which, thinking of it now? Yeah, that was reckless. We coulda hurt someone! But, we used to wear each other's colours and carry each other's tokens.

Liet gets her extreme sports kick from snowboarding these days, by the way, when she visits the mountains with me.

Here we are at the end of the year with time to think. And it's been quite a year. The other thing is that memory gets kind of fuzzy. When I look back over my history – our history – and think it went back that far and like? No wonder you get confused where the legends start.

…Why was Liet in my mountains with the knights and the golden horses?

Maybe this is from back when, when 'Poland' implied the whole lot of us. Lithuania's always been a bit touchy about that though. Which, okay, is fair.

* * *

So anyway the story.

Once upon a time there was a blacksmith and for some reason he's the focus here, whatever, I like Wacky Times feat. hapless bystander as much as anyone. Anyway he's minding his own business when this mysterious messenger appears. You'd think that would be me, right? But nope, cos this is earlier, or a legend. If it was me by way, I'd be all knighted up in armour and such, not a wavy water damsel. What? Liet and I did it all the time. And I'm like 100% sure the mystic messengers switched up assignments and outfits all the time, and God was fine with it, Deuteronomy notwithstanding. You know what, he probably encouraged it. That's totally canon. I mean, that thing with the talking donkey? That bit where the Son of the Most High is born in some kind of outbuilding by accident? Jokes, man! Our God actually is like the ultimate trickster god.

Anyway. The messenger whoever it is tells the blacksmith he has a special job for him, and he'll be paid handsomely, on the condition he doesn't tell anyone else. Then the messenger gets out a bar of gold and tells the blacksmith to make it into a horseshoe. At which point the guy must be thinking, what, but hey, it's a job. And he's curious. And then he's led into the mountains, through the Koscieliska Valley, and there's this cave… Full of sleeping knights in full armour! And horses with cloth of gold horse blankets and gold horseshoes! Because, of course! Eh, and of course I always liked the bit about the golden horses. Anyway one of the horses needs a new golden shoe (which – okay so the horse doesn't even wake up when the shoe is being nailed on so how it broke the old shoe is a mystery to me.) And gets a bag of gold as a reward. How it ends, of course, is the blacksmith goes home and blabs. Then the bag of gold turns to sand and he never finds the cave again, and I guess people think he's a bit strange for the rest of his life, but no major harm done.

But while he was in the cave, he asked his guide about the knights and what on earth was going on here, as you would. And the story goes these are the bravest knights from a bygone era and they sleep under the mountain until they're needed again. On the day of dire need and a great battle they will ride forth again and save Poland. The sky will rain fire and trees will be snapped like twigs, etc etc etc.

Over the years I've thought about this story a lot. Especially at certain times, when the sky burned. All this while there were knights sleeping under Mount Pisana? I literally can't decide if this is reassuring or terrifying. Cos like, there have been times? I called on those knights, with ALL OF MY HEART, like praying (and, again, this makes total sense, God is always somewhere in the story.) So I cried out Holy Mother please, get your armour on – that's always been my theory about who it was, by the way, the messenger. I know you could pick a saint with more directly relevant experience but unless I can have France's chick on day release then I'm Poland and I get the best. Holy Mother Mary get your armour on, grab Gabriel and his trumpet to play the reveille and get those knights to move their asses and help me.

Only, obviously, this has never happened.

And so, is this reassuring? – 'hey, this here what you're facing isn't the worst, you'll survive it'. (Sure, I did. I survived. That doesn't make it okay, what happened to all of them.) Or absolutely fucking terrifying? – 'this here what you're facing isn't the worst, just you wait.'

I also got to thinking, what if they're trapped, and can't get out to help me?

But then – what if they totally could have helped me, and chose not to.

* * *

I should definitely not dwell on this and overthink as per. Should I talk to her, about how I both love and fear that story?

I look back over, oh a whole heap of stuff. Up til this present day. Maybe it's massively disrespectful to make comparisons to childbirth when I've never, like, birthed a child, but… Don't they say that your mind covers up quite how painful it was, otherwise no one would ever do it more than once? I sort of feel that's what happens. Like, I admit I still have nightmares, I still have black patches in my memory and it hurts to go there, I have all this stuff that triggers that waterworks completely irrationally. But I mean it could be worse. Mostly I remember that it was bad.

As for things between us two. They're wonderful. They're tricky. They're still… after our first meeting every time, we – well we don't always fight, but that or we go quiet. We have this difficulty adjusting.

It takes a while …

But then – now – we have conversations about what's bugging us, or about normal everyday nothing, undertaken speaking into each other's shoulders, necks, noses squashed; ow your chin is pointy. The physical comfort of being wound together on sofas and beds. I love her so much my head spins.

The important thing is that we're talking, we're trying. She told me about the dream.

* * *

So, if I had been there, I'd've been trying to shake the knights awake and demanding an explanation, naturally. That and just looking around cos, wow, you found the place, it exists, and it's full of awesome mighty horses covered in gold.

But I'm not in the dream so Lithuania is alone. The place is lit with a golden glow, that's how the story goes.

She can only think, this is a prettier prison than usual.

I wasn't there. Of course if we were together it would have been different.

Never once in all our troubles were we taken together, and it's not fair.

* * *

there are no words to express the abyss between isolation and having one ally. It may be conceded to the mathematicians that four is twice two. But two is not twice one; two is two thousand times one.

If we were together maybe it would have been different.

* * *

Like I say I'm pretty religious – and I can take a lot in my stride. For example, that awful Dan Brown book? I raced through it. Seething with rage and giggles and complaining to anyone in earshot DUDE all I ask at this point is internal consistency come on? but I totally ate it up.

But seriously. If – spoiler alert – she isn't a descendant of whoever then why are you bowing? Or was that just in the movie. Also, Mr. Brown and co conspirators? No, you're wrong, and you don't get to take this away from me. Because sidenote: for years and years I was so glad and inspired by the fact that our lord and saviour totally stayed single into his thirties – which I extrapolate to be hundreds of years for nations – and also for his entire earthly life. (Paul too with the celibacy, I know, and I know he makes more of a thing about it but, eh. Poor guy just isn't as warm and attractive a personality. Plus his being not clear on what he said re: my entire gender has a lot to answer for, so.)

I still am glad to have that example, even if personally I'm no longer, you know, single.

* * *

It took a long while.

To come back to this. To find out who we are now. To learn to love ourselves. To remember how to love each other. All that stuff.

After the war, it was a long time before we were able to dig back down to the people we used to be.

I'm spooled around your body, holding on tight, listening for your heart beat. This is good. Somehow, we've done it.

* * *

By the way, when do I talk about the sex? Also, how.

There isn't like… a lot of language and context in The Canon™ here. For a lot of this stuff actually, for people like us.

So: the artist tells us that female orgasm is like being on a big mighty awesome stallion and it's rearing backwards and you're thrown breathless and off-kilter – in a nice way! –

And, I mean… sort of?

But that doesn't get to the rest of it for me.

How do I say: and it was good, and it was good.

When we surely didn't think we could trust each other again after everything that happened.

When I didn't think I could love anyone in that way.

I can't explain it, but bodies are more important than they say, than I insisted for years too, I guess.

We touch each other intimately. Inside. That word – it turns me on, it absolutely does, it's thrilling. But I never could have understood before how it's also comforting. And – humbling? Yeah. We're at each other's mercy and we keep each other safe.

It's good, it's good.

And I love you.

* * *

I did not live until this day  
Crowned my felicity  
When I could say without a crime  
I am not Thine, but Thee

God bless you, Katherine Phillips, English lady poet to the ladies.

It's not blasphemy, and it doesn't scare us anymore.

* * *

We! Are! Wearing! Christmas jumpers. Matching ones. I love this so much because I still have this thing about clothes as armour, and armour as symbolic. Let me explain. Armour has a dress or ceremonial function too, right? The kind you're thinking of when you think of the knights. Shining.

These are not subtle jumpers. Blazing in red, green and gold.

I wear your colours.

* * *

For Lithuania, the bad thoughts oftentimes come on quite sudden. Like an ambush, or - to be less dramatic - like stumbling on an uneven patch of floor you weren't expecting. Like the dreams.

We're doing this thing where we talk through and face our fears. Where Liet tries to tell me how she feels and I try to listen, you know?

Sometimes when I really don't know what to say I'll try to sway the conversation back onto stories, stories about knights and wolves and dragons, to cheer her up.

* * *

I get it, I think. Lithuania's nightmare is being locked up and trapped and forgotten about. It didn't really have anything to do with joining those dumb knights who never helped me.

So I tell her—

I would have found you. No one's discovered the cave in a thousand years so what, I'm still coming to find you. Singing the song we wrote together.

You tell me, Aw, and you're always singing, Po.

This is going to make me totally self-conscious from now on but: Maybe that's why. I'll keep singing so we don't lose each other.

I don't know if you can fix dreams this way but it's worth a try.

Deciding.

No, no more holding back, standing on my dignity.

Over and again I'll declare I love you.

Walk the world singing our song, til I find you underground.

* * *

 **Notes:**

The Polish legend of the Sleeping Knights is preeetty much as described here

Blondel – was a real person. The story about him finding Richard the Lionheart in prison by singing a song only they knew is very unlikely to be real however. And highly embroidered.

Peire Vidal – excerpt from his vida (notorious unreliable contemporary 'biography', search for the rest of this if you want!) "Peire Vidal was from Toulouse, son of a furrier. And he sang better than anyone else in the world and was a good composer; and he was one of the maddest men who ever existed, because he thought that everything that he wanted was true. … And he was in love with la Loba ("she-wolf") of Puegnautier and Milady Estafania of Son, who was from Cerdagne; and he also had fallen in love again with Lady Raimbauda of Biolh. Biolh is in Provence, on the mountain that separates Lombardy from Provence. La Loba was from Carcassonne; and Peire Vidal made himself to be called "Lop" ("wolf") for her, and bore a wolf on his arms. And on the mountain of Cabaret, he caused himself to be hunted by the shepherds, and dogs, and hounds, and greyhounds, just like a man hunts a wolf; and he dressed himself with the fur of a wolf to make the shepherds and the dogs believe that he was a wolf."

Two is two thousand time one… From Chapter 8 of The Man Who Thursday by GK Chesterton. I love this book, read it.

Frenzy of Exultations - The woman-on-a-horse painting; painted Władysław Podkowiński, by in 1893. Po's maybe being a bit harsh and kinda taking this painting for granted, it is quite something….

Katherine Phillips – the first English woman to become famous as poet during her lifetime, her poems, according to BBC Bitesize GCSE revision guide, deal with "themes of female friendship". For more detail about these friendships, please check out To My Excellent Lucasia, on our Friendship, which includes the lines quoted, and "For thou art all that I can prize/ My joy, my life, my rest."; and Friendship's Mystery.

What else did I reference… uh… the Bible… and The Da Vinci Code lol. What I remember of it, I only watched the movie and read the first few pages tbh.

"…it was a long while before we could dig back to the people we used to be" – this is something I remember from a Voices of the First World War programme, I think, and I'm sorry I don't have the accurate source. Real people anyway.

So … this has some similarities to It is important that I love you from a couple years back? Only less angsty, actually, more rambly, and this time they are in a sexual/romantic relationship.


End file.
